


Mounds of marble

by thejourneymaninn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Puns, Established Relationship, F/M, Fenhanders - Freeform, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Self-Doubt, Smut, self-cest...well...sort of, statue fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-04 06:28:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10270310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: In the new headquarters of the mage rebellion, Anders keeps visiting the statue built in his honour. He can’t stay away, and yet he can’t truly enjoy the sight, convinced as he is that he doesn’t deserve it.Time for his lovers to show him he does…(and to tell him he's pretty).





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [therealmnemo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealmnemo/gifts).



> Tbaa organized a lovely giveaway for its first birthday – but usually, when it’s your birthday, _you’re_ the one getting gifts. So I thought Mod Mnemo, who does all the hard work for the blog (+ the chat, + another blog, +….), should get a present too.
> 
> Since I didn’t have a prompt from you, I just went with statue fucking (although Anders is kind of cheating on Andraste in this one, sorry) – and Anders being loved and supported, because there can never be enough of that. If there’s something else you’d prefer, feel free to let me know.

It took his eyes a few moments to adjust to the dim light provided by the narrow windows. Washed-out and shy as, the first touch of morning, it fell in thin, pale stripes upon the coarse benches cramped into the limited space, the candlesticks haphazardly placed in between them, the offering of flowers strewn across the dais. From somewhere in a far corner came the soft, rustling noise of mice, rats or some other small wildlife, but apart from that, the place was eerily quiet. He had the place all to himself. Of course, most people, _normal_ people, were still soundly asleep at this time of day. But then, most people weren’t plagued by spirit musings and warden nightmares. Not to mention other nightmares, of smoke and flame and a fate that never came. The few hours of sleep he could wrench from his nights weren’t worth the eternity of staring into darkness, lost in an endless loop, soft snoring to his left and to his right while his own eyes refused to remain closed. Thus, when the first tendrils of grey had reached into the room, he had given up, disentangled himself from a firm grasp and a loosely slung leg, and made his way to the small…Chapel was what came closest, he supposed, for it was a site of reverence and rest, a refuge for those in need of hope, a place to lay down your burden, to beg for more and murmur your thanks for the little you had. But the stone figure at whose feet despair and dreams were bared wasn’t Andraste.

It was his own face, staring back at him.

When the new Divine had not only pardoned him but publicly lauded his contribution to a fairer world, the mage rebellion – no, _the free mages_ – hadn’t hesitated to loudly praise those it had previously disowned. At long last, they were free to sing the songs of their heroes.

They had the Divine’s support and with the Inquisition disbanded, they even had headquarters, a safe haven for those still wary of the world outside. Anders would gladly have given every last coin he owned to have seen the expression on Cullen’s face when the Inquisitor officially granted ownership of Skyhold to the free mages, as a reward for “their bravery, and the vital part they played in the fight against Corypheus”.

But he hadn’t been there to see it happen, and if it hadn’t been for a very stubborn rogue and an equally stubborn elf, he wouldn’t have been here now, either. The rebellion hadn’t wanted him before; what use could they have for him now that they had won? It wasn’t until he first walked into the courtyard, tripping over someone wearing a replica of his coat at nearly every second step, that he understood why Hawke had insisted he had to see the place. And why Fenris had agreed to set foot into what had essentially become mage-central. Anders had managed not to burst into tears then, but his victory was short-lived. Perhaps a better man could have held back, but the wretched man that he was crumpled into a heap of sobs the moment the door opened and he saw the flowers, the candles lit in his name and in the midst of it all, his likeness, back straight, staff slammed into the ground, a slightly bent arm raised, an accusing finger pointing right at the face of oppression. It didn’t have much in the way of a pedestal, just a square base raising it about half a foot above the floor, but it was still an impressive sight. And they had put it there to honour…him.

“The dwarf described you well,” Fenris had said with an appreciative nod once Anders had managed to collect himself.

“See why we had to bring you here now?” Hawke’s smile held as much mischief as concern, so Anders responded to the love he felt in the fingers wiping away his tears in the language they both understood best.

“Well, of course…you needed me to confirm my statue is bigger than yours.”

“Not so fast, love. I’m still waiting for the official measurements to arrive. Until then, I’d say it’s safe to assume that the _Champion_ is bigger. What’s one little chantry compared to the Arishok?”

She didn’t have to say she understood; her grin was all the reassurance he needed from her, just as the chuckle that rasped against his neck was all he needed from Fenris. For he, too, spoke the same language. It had just taken Anders longer to decipher his particular dialect.

An arm around each of them, their heads resting on his shoulder, he had remained sitting on the floor for hours that day. At peace, for the first time in years. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe it would last, but he had agreed to stay. For now.

Impressive as his statue was, it was nowhere near as gigantic as Fiona’s. The first thing visitors saw when they entered the main hall, it towered over friend and foe alike. Anders often wondered if the fiery elf was as drawn to her marble image as he was to his. For no, this wasn’t the first time he had left his bed in the early morning, or late at night, to sneak a peek, and perhaps the odd touch, at the smooth, cold stone. There it, _he_ , stood, expression aflame with passion and righteousness, a broad-shouldered stance, that long finger pointing right at him, dust motes floating around its head like a peasant’s crown. Whoever had carved the statue had omitted the coat, depicting him wearing only a simple shirt and trousers. It annoyed Anders to no end, and Fenris’ explanation – “Who has the time to sculpt that monstrosity?” – hadn’t done much to lessen his irritation. The elf’s casual remark about the “surprisingly appealing mounds of marble” the tight-fitting trousers made of his ass had, however, provided at least some consolation.

“Shapely mounds indeed,” he murmured as he slowly circled the statue, once again inspecting every last inch of it. He was about to smugly inform his copy that it was nothing compared to the original, when a sharp stab of reality forced its way past his defences and right into his thoughts. And into his lungs, judging by the way he was, from one moment to the next, left gasping for breath, dizzy and nauseous. Of course. His peace was never to last long. Here he was, again, torn apart, ground to pieces between joyful pride and the gnawing in his stomach, a thousand pinpricks reminding him he didn’t deserve it, frozen, helpless against the wave pulling him under. Useless. A man well beyond his fortieth year, and still that voice in his head, that blighted, incessant “not good enough”, wouldn’t shut up. Not even Justice had ever managed to drown it out. And neither did Anders. It wrapped its sneering maw around everything, corrupting every source of joy or pride as surely as the taint in his blood. Coming here was pointless, and yet he couldn’t stay away. Again and again, he returned, to stare at the supposed hero he knew he wasn’t. Trying to stroke his ego, all he managed was to poke at its rotting shreds.

Anders bit his lip in frustration, the taste of copper in his mouth a welcome distraction from the ballad of his failures in his mind, and turned to leave. There was no solace to be found here. Not tonight.

He only made it halfway to the door before he froze. He had not heard them enter, had not noticed the increase in light, but there they stood in the doorway, regarding him with something that was not quite worry, yet not mere curiosity either.

“Is everything alright? We heard you tossing about all night…and then you stole away at first light.” Hawke took a step towards him at the words.

He gave them what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Yes, everything’s fine. I just couldn’t sleep.”

“And you decided to come…here?” Fenris inquired, eyebrows arched as he closed the door and stepped up next to Hawke in his usual, near soundless way.

“Well, you know how it is, sometimes a man just needs a little time with…himself.” Gesturing to the statue, he tried for a joke, but he was all too aware his façade was slipping. Which probably didn’t matter; after all these years, they usually saw right through it anyway. They knew him, for better and for worse.

He could still recall, with absolute clarity, the first time Fenris had realized that for all his anger at the world, there was no one Anders judged as harshly as himself. The way the elf had looked at him with those big, earnest eyes and said, with no trace of judgement, “We both have hate others put there”, the strain in Hawke’s voice when she added, “And all too often, we direct it at ourselves.”

He had thought of her mother, then, all harsh words and blame, her father, a large shadow, a loss, her siblings, the one for whose death she wept, the one who resented her, a life of taint and death, yet more blame heaped at her feet. And when he heard those soft words, “The _three_ of us do,” he knew Fenris was thinking of them too.

There had been no need for further words. They both put an arm around her and one around each other, foreheads touching as they waited for the storm to pass. They had seen him, that day, and they saw him still, just as he saw them. And while he might prefer their quips, he never had to doubt their arms would be there to quietly hold him when it was needed.

This morning was no different. They had followed him because they cared. He knew they meant well. But right now, all he needed was for them to let him get away with the joke. He didn’t want to talk, to lay out all his raw, festering insecurities for yet another inspection; all he wanted was to crawl back into their bed. With or without their company, it didn’t matter as long as they let him take a sleeping draught strong enough to knock him out into a few hours of blissful, black quiet in his mind.

If Justice cooperated.

He threw them a shaky grin.

“Let’s go back to bed. This old man needs his sleep.”

In the ensuing silence, he saw them exchange a glance he knew all too well. Seemed they were not going to let him get away with it after all.

Yet what followed wasn’t a lecture, nor a plea to share what was going on. Hawke merely raised an eyebrow, her face split in two by the grin that probably still haunted the Kirkwall nobility’s dreams.

“He wanted to have himself all to himself. Can you believe such selfishness, Fenris?”

“I cannot,” the elf replied, not even the slightest twitch of the lips betraying his grave expression.

Hawke pointedly shook her head. “And I thought he loved us! But perhaps we shouldn’t judge him quite so harshly…I mean,” she pointed at the statue, “Look at that _face_. Can _you_ resists it?”

“I cannot.” His tone was no less sombre than before as he added, “Not to mention that ass.”

Anders heaved a sigh. “Alright, alright, I get it. Can we talk about this later, though? I really am exhausted.”

Fenris smirk was downright lecherous. “I am afraid you do not ‘get it’, since you seem to assume we are capable of letting you leave.”

“Exactly. Our burning need for you is hard enough to control even under normal circumstances, but when there’s _two_ of you - we simply don’t stand a chance. But don’t worry, when we’re done with you, you won’t need a potion to fall asleep…We’ll make sure you’re sufficiently tired out.” She let her tongue trail across her lips at the words, although the shit-eating grin that was still plastered on her face made the gesture slightly less seductive than she seemed to think.

Even as he shook his head, Anders couldn’t help smiling fondly as he looked at them. His two goofballs of support. He could have done far worse. In fact, he couldn’t have done better. He still had no idea how he had managed to get them, _both_ of them, to love him in the first place. And he was utterly lost as to what had made them _stay_ with him, even after… his thoughts were interrupted by two warm bodies sidling up to him and a hand tugging at his sleeve.

“Come on. It would be rude to keep…you…waiting.”

“Very funny, Hawke. Come on, this is a _chapel_ , I…”

“Since when are you opposed to blowing...a load in places of worship?” Fenris asked, all innocent sweetness.

Anders didn’t have time for the indignant huff this statement deserved; Fenris’ hand had already found its way into the front of his trousers – at precisely the moment Hawkes’ hands had found theirs into the back. They couldn’t have synchronized the motion better if they had practiced. Which, for all Anders knew, they might have had. He wasn’t really in a state to ponder the question, though, not with one hand deftly working his cock, one kneading his ass and a third sneaking between his cheeks. His startled gasps were met with a giggle, and Hawke’s voice near his ear.

“Don’t act like you’ve never thought about it. I’ve seen the way you look at that masterpiece. It’s the same look we give the masterpiece currently trapped between us.”

“You know her. She has a fondness for sandwiches.”

Fenris soft chuckle, teeth nibbling on his earlobe, hands caressing him, only stopping their attentions to divest him of his clothes…Anders’ head was spinning with their touches, their words, their love. Scent and skin and somewhere in the back of his mind, the admission that they weren’t completely wrong. That finger _was_ long, and thick and all in all rather enticing. Add to that the smooth lines of his body preserved for eternity (or well, at least for much longer than his mortal flesh was going to last), the unyielding stone cold and firm beneath his hands…And yes, the thing bore his face. Call him vain, but he liked his face. He certainly wouldn’t mind looking at it as he reached completion. Well, if Fenris and Hawke ever let him far enough out of their grasp to turn around. He started to wriggle, demanding they let him do just that – but it seemed they had other plans.

Without warning, Hawke slung him across her shoulder and carried him over to the altar of himself. Dangling upside down, he watched as Fenris, a self-satisfied smirk on his face, performed the little striptease that never failed to do decidedly too many things to Anders’ cock. Predictably, it reacted, loudly protesting the sudden abandonment, the cold air, and the fact that they were walking away from that tantalizing display of silky skin and lyrium.

Fortunately, he soon found himself propped up against another silky surface. The cold stone sent a shiver through his body as it hit his back. And as for the sight in front of him, Fenris’ tongue sliding into Hawke’s mouth as they combined their efforts to free every last unjustly imprisoned limb of the confines of fabric, the firm muscles of his lovers’ arms as they sunk deeper into their embrace, her breasts pale against his skin, nipples hard and beckoning…

He hadn’t even noticed he had taken himself in hand and begun to stroke until Hawke, shaking off her boots, turned to him. “So focussed on the show in front of you that you ignore the marvel behind your back? Shame on you!”

She was next to him in an instant, muffling his reply with her tongue as she pulled him up and pinned his hands above his head and against his chest…or well, the _statue’s_ chest. Her free hand gripped his hair, its hold on it as greedy as that of her lips on his. She kept pressing on, backing him further into the statue until he was as sandwiched between it and Hawke as he had been between her and Fenris mere minutes before. But this time, only one of his partners was rubbing their body against him. The other was as still as it was silent. Cold and rigid, not budging to the fragile mortal form squirming and shivering against it. Hands caught in Hawke’s iron grip, with hardly any room to move, he was trapped in the most delicious way, lost in her touch and utterly at her mercy – at _their_ mercy….He wasn't quite sure where Fenris was… Until then he heard an appreciative rumble from the other side of the statue.

“Perhaps we should start with its biggest ass...et.” 

Had Hawke given him either air or room for it, he would have heaved a fond sigh.

Punsters…It wasn't always easy to love two of them. 

Hawke grinned against his lips as she let go of his hands in favour of grabbing his waist. With a few quick steps, she manoeuvred both of them behind the statue, where Fenris arms were already waiting for him.

One hand on Anders’ ass and one on the statue’s, both exploring their booty with greedy strokes and grabs, the elf gave a little purr of contentment. Hawke playfully nudged his shoulder.

“Leave some for me, you ass-hog.”

Tightening his hold on Anders, Fenris scooted to the side and relinquished one of the shiny cheeks.

Gaping slightly more than he would have wished, Anders watched as Hawke rubbed her breasts against the statue’s ass right next to where Fenris’ hand was still cupping it. His head spun with a desire he couldn’t name, and he stared, transfixed and aching. Eventually a gentle but firm push against his own behind signalled for him to step in between them. Fenris moved further to the side and retreated his hand, using it to take hold of Anders’ and guide it to the marble expanse. Firm, cool smoothness beneath his fingers and appreciative murmurs about delicious curves and fullness in his ears, Anders reached between Hawke and his double, cupping one of her breasts, his other hand still on the statue’s ass, fingers intertwined with those of the elf that was controlling its movements.

The contrast was mesmerizing. His hands encased in soft flesh and solid stone, his fingers sliding across heated skin and cold marble, one yielding to his touch, changing shape, sloping, spilling between his fingers, nipple grazing his skin, knuckles brushing against his, the other impenetrable, permanent in his feeble, fleeting hands. And to either side, a warm body pressed against his, a hand caressing his back, stroking his ass with the same reverence he was showing the statue…

He pulled back, working his hands free and reaching out for his lovers. He had mastered the art of pleasuring both of them simultaneously over the years – not that it was strictly necessary to do it at the same time, but he enjoyed the different movements, circles, strokes, pumping, sliding, the need for a change in pressure and speed never quite occurring at the same time, forcing him to keep his focus, to be in control despite their moans and scents all around him, like fine-tuning a spell while demons whispered and Templars watched, and yet so different in the safety of caring words and loving eyes, of hands and tongues that would later be just as eager to make him lose his focus, surrender himself and control be damned.

Yet Anders’ fingers were pried away before they had even found their way to her clit, or managed to fully take hold of Fenris. In a motion just as synchronised as those he had aimed for, his hands were placed back on the gentle slope of his marble ass.

“We will take care of that later. Another show for you to enjoy.” Fenris’ voice left no room for debate.

They began to caress him, lips leaving a trail of kisses on his chest, fingers stroking, pinching, circling, slapping.

 

“Thisis for you pretty boy. Because we love you, and because you deserve to revel in your beauty and perfection the way we do each night. So just enjoy yoursel…ves.” Hawke's throaty chuckle left no doubt that he was by no means the only one enjoying this. Neither did the way Fenris claimed his mouth in a kiss that left Anders’ head dizzy with both lust and lack of air, or his soft murmur against his ear when he finally pulled back.

“Holding that revelation of an ass in your hands is a pleasure known only to a few. And now, you are one of them. Never doubt we know how lucky we are.”

“And never doubt everyone else in this fortress does, too. You are their hero, love. Their brave, determined hero who stood up against impossible odds and made the hard choice no one else had the balls to make.” As if on cue, Fenris hand reached between his legs, his thumb teasing over sensitive skin. Anders moaned helplessly, worried that they could hear the tears he had been just about managing to fight back in his voice. If they did, they were kind enough to ignore them. Hawke kept talking as if nothing unusual was going on, adopting a cheeky tone as she nipped at his ear. “Of course that’s not _all_ they’re appreciating…I’ve seen the way they stare at you…Poor sods, must be hard to have such a sexy saviour…and not be allowed to touch him. Butyou _are_ allowed to touch, to play with yourself in all the ways they can only dream of.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her wink at Fenris. A second later, he felt a gentle shove. Fenris’ hand slid up and around his cock, guiding it into position against the statue’s leg.

Anders hissed at the contact. The coldness of the stone was at the same time exquisite and torturous.

“Remember that little spell you used to warm the floors of all those caves we hid in? Something tells me that might come in handy here…like a breath of life to your body…”

“Perhaps we should take this to the front?” came Fenris’ voice from his other side. “It would be a shame if he didn’t get to scream at his lovely features as we ravish him…”

If they kept talking like that, there might soon be no more need for ravishing.

This time, there was no manhandling involved. Hawke merely took his hand and led him back to the front. While he performed the spell she had suggested – just a hint of it, so the stone would feel less icy, but still be cool to the touch in that tingling, tantalizing way – Hawke handed Fenris…Anders supposed it was better not ask just where exactly she had kept the bottle of oil. _Rogues._

As he leaned against the statue, Hawke let her hands wander over both versions of his right arm, and Fenris set to work behind him, carefully sliding an oiled finger inside his body, and. Their touch had him wriggling a little, yet while the motion occasionally caused his cock to brush against the statue, he felt too self-conscious to start grinding his hips the way he was aching to. 

Another finger slipped into him, picking up speed, and Anders found himself whimpering into Hawke’s playful, languid kiss.

“Shhh. Just relax and look at your face,” Fenris murmured, hot breath fanning over his skin. Into his other ear, Hawke cooed. “A handsome face, isn’t it?”

“Well…I’ll admit it’s not all that shabby,” Anders panted. “Even if no one ever gets the nose right…”

His lovers remained suspiciously silent.

“It’s not that big!” he tried again, stubbornly.

“Its size only works in its favour. It is majestic. “

“Oh yes. And it sure knows how to treat me right…. Hawke added. ” _Mmmmmm_ … I bet I could do some lovely things with _that_ one too….But that’s for later. Now, let us take care of you…while you take care of…yourself.”

“You’ll never get tired of this, will you?”

Their “nope” came in unison.

Well, if they were going to tease him for it anyway, he might as well go for it.

That finger still looked _extremely_ inviting.

Leaning back into Fenris’ touch, he pushed himself off the statue, twisting to the side until he was able to reach it. He gave it a few probing licks with his tongue – relishing the poorly concealed gasps behind him – and then let his mouth sink over it, slowly, making a show out of every inch.

“Now that’s what I call inspiration”.

There was no mistaking the grin in Hawke’s voice as she sunk to her knees.

“Give him a moment. He needs to keep still. I don’t want him breaking his teeth.” Fenris’ voice lost its matter-of-factness as he practically purred into his ear. “Only one of his lovely holes is filled. That needs to be remedied immediately.”

If it hadn’t been for the giant finger currently testing the limits of his mouth, Anders’ moan would have echoed through the whole room. He felt himself squirming in anticipation, but heeding Fenris’ advice, he tried to not to move his head until the elf was fully sheathed inside him. When he resumed bobbing his head, Hawke took hold his hips. She gave him a few teasing licks much like the ones he had bestowed on the statue, then swallowed him down without warning. As soon as both of them had their mouths full, Fenris began to thrust.

Everything was sensation, and Anders was drowning in it. He kept sucking on the smooth finger as if his life depended on it, the stone rough and silky at the same time, a heavy promise in his mouth, Fenris’ behind him, hands on his hips in a firm grip as he fucked him, Hawke at his feet with his cock in her mouth, the heat of their bodies so close to his, his toned chest beneath his hands… 

Coming up for air, he let his tongue circle the full girth, throwing Hawke a shaky grin.

“Still think yours is bigger?”

She pulled back, smirking up at him as she watched him worship the marble digit.

“We should switch positions, Fenris, considering how much he clearly enjoys...fingers.”

If Anders hadn’t been utterly lost already, Fenris’ rasped “An excellent idea. He is all ready for you. Hot and slick and eager.” would have taken care of that for sure.

Hawke was on her feet and behind him in a flash. Fenris took a little longer to extricate himself - always so careful not to harm him - but once he had, he settled between his legs just as quickly, darting out his tongue to lap at him with a grin as broad as hers.

It didn’t take them long to reduce him to a gasping, stammering mess. Hawke showed less restraint than Fenris, but just as much skill. She knew exactly how to work her fingers, how he needed to be touched, and she gave him no time to breathe with the impatient pace she set.

 

Anders longed to taste them too, but they seemed determined to take care of him, and him alone. And for all his desire to reciprocate, he couldn't deny this simple, embarrassing truth: it felt good to be treated like he was special. Whatever the world said, whatever his own mind said, to them, he was worth enough to focus all their attention on him – and they were _enjoying_ it. He basked in their arousal, in the words they called him - handsome, sexy, perfect, loved – and he allowed himself to believe them. Tomorrow might be dark again but today, their pleasuring and pampering bathed him in light.

Fenris picked up speed, taking his cock fast and deep, and Hawke followed suit. Anders cried out around the finger in his mouth when she bit his neck, her arm around his chest pulling his back flush against her as they started to wreck him in earnest. Filled and gagged and serviced, surrendered to his lovers will, he tried to keep worshipping the statue but his movements were turning sloppy… _Close,_ he was so close…

_Cold._

The warmth around his cock disappeared so suddenly his eyes flew open. Fenris’ voice, raspy yet oh-so-smug.

“I believe it is time to stop.”

He rose to his feet, smirking at Hawke over Anders’ shoulder.

And just as abruptly, no more fingers either. Except for the one in his mouth…which kind of ruined the effect of his offended pout.

He pulled back, about to cross his arms and glower at them, but they intercepted his movements, taking hold of his hands and guiding them to their lips.

“Patience, mage,” Fenris murmured between soft kisses to his fingertips.

“Exactly. Don’t be so selfish - one of you hasn’t gotten nearly enough attention yet.”

Frustration still rumbling in his throat and nipping at every inch of skin, he muttered under his breath, yet allowed them to push him forward. Hawke spread a thin coat of oil over the statue’s legs, then used her slippery hand to guide his cock towards a thick marble thigh. As it rubbed against the smooth surface, she gave his ass an encouraging pat and let go.

“Now, have fun playing with yourself. I sure am planning to…” She stepped past him and wrapped her leg around the other thigh. As she let her hand slide between skin and stone, she cocked her head and addressed the chiselled face above them. “You come here often? Such a handsome statue. I bet you work out a lot. I’m sure you don’t mind if I take advantage of your…well-sculpted physique?”

Open-mouthed and breathing heavily, Anders stared at her, so captivated by her movements that he forgot his own. Engrossed as he was, he didn’t notice Fenris approaching until he was already pressed against him. He tore his gaze from Hawke’s brazen display to kiss him, yet Fenris nudged him impatiently, tugging at his hip and forcing him in a sideways position. Anders was about to inquire just why the elf thought it necessary to treat his body like a ragdoll when he felt a hot and silky pressure against his erection. He looked down to see Fenris’ cock rubbing against his, and the statue, at a provocatively slow pace. Utterly transfixed, he reached out a shaky hand and brought them closer together before he began to match the elf’s thrusts. With a sharp hiss, Fenris picked up speed, fucking him, _both_ of him, with rapid, merciless strokes as sharp breaths and shameless moans mingled with the sounds of skin and stone mating.

Next to them, Hawke was setting her own, frantic rhythm. Anders couldn’t decide where to look; his eyes kept swivelling from one tantalizing image back to the other until he his vision began to blur. He shook his head, craning his neck to take in the statue’s face instead. Jaw set, eyes ablaze with determination, lips parted by righteous words… a strength he rarely felt in himself set in stone, his statement given permanence for everyone to see.

Not to mention that it was rather easy on the eyes.

There was a shift, movement around him as first Hawke, then Fenris, took a step back, seeking the friction of his skin instead, heat and wetness, an ocean on one side, a drop on the other. One arm wrapped tightly around him, they each used the other to caress him, fingers skirting across his balls, his ass, teasing along his still frantically moving cock. A tongue darted into his ear, hot and wet and gone in an instance, another licked across his jaw, teeth grazing his neck, biting his shoulder, too much to tell them apart, so good, snapping, grinding, aching, grasping for _more_ , _more_ , distance melting, blurring, faster, faster… _now_ …

 

A panted chuckle near his ear. _Fenris._

“Always the first.”

Through the fog, he reached for them - his treasures, his heartbeats, the two flames in his darkness - pulled them close and set his hands to work. Yes, he tended to be the first - yet he always made sure he wasn't the last. Still dizzy, marvelling at the mess he had made, pearly stripes on pale stone, he struggled to find a rhythm, his movements sloppy and distracted. He only dimly registered the smirk on Hawke’s face as her eyes followed his, heard the grin in Fenris’ voice as he asked, “Do you want me to climb up there and paint your face? I can think of a few good uses for that nose...”

Before Anders had a chance to admit that yes, he liked that idea very much indeed, Hawke disentangled herself from his arms.

“Only if you don't get in my way. I’ve been dying to try out that staff… Since, you know,” smugness personified, she threw Anders a grin, and grabbed the statue’s arm to hoist herself up, “it’s _bigger_ than yours.”


End file.
